


Queen of Ruins

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: AUish, Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Humor, Story Arc, potential smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, there is no difference from dream and from reality. Sometimes, your reality is a dream, and your dream is a reality.</p><p> </p><p>WARNING: This is heavily headcanon, and while it will follow the lore of Skyrim and the Elder Scrolls games at large, it contains heavy divergence from the plot of Skyrim and major, non-canon changes to the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And It Began...

...with a knock.

Galina opened her eyes and looked around the interior of the cabin. She could feel the crisp air of the spring breezing through her windows, hear the light, tinny sounds of the strings on her lute, and smell the flowers on the air. The serenity, however, was interrupted by another knock at the door. 

Lacking the caution of stress, the nord stood from her chair, brushing her ever-lengthening hair out of her eyes. Since she’d had that dream, and seen herself with that gorgeous hair, there was no reason for her  _ not _ to grow it out. 

Except for every practical reason she could think of, but to hell with it. 

She’d gotten caught up in her thoughts again, another knock on the door. “Keep your pants on, I’m coming!” Closing the distance between her and the door, Galina grabbed the handle and pulled it open, only to be faced with the two people she  _ least _ wanted to see right now. The two Bretons, thankfully not with their Thalmor owners.

“Oh for the love of...what do you two want?”

Both of them smiled at the Nord and she couldn’t quite tell if it was genuine or mischievou in nature. Regardless, against her better judgement, she stepped aside to let them in. 

“Nothing! We just brought you a present.” Both of them spoke in tandem, in a voice that sound almost rehearsed. Bad, bad sign.

“A present.” Rather than a question, it was a statement to which they both nodded. “What  _ kind _ of present?”

Imani was the first to speak up, “Oh, you know...a money kind.”  

Staring at them in genuine disbelief--the suspicious kind--Galina raised a brow. “A money kind?”

“Yep!” Proudly, Imani held up a wrapped package.

“That doesn’t look like money.”   


“Well I never said it was  _ money _ money.”

“Yes. You did.”

“No I said it was a money  _ kind _ .”

“That means money.”

“Okay are you going to be a party-pooper this whole time?”

Crossing her arms sternly, Galina stared at both of them. “That depends on what this is.” Her cornflower-blue gaze flicked between the two Bretons, who had gone back to smiling deviously. 

“Okay okay okay, ready?” Imani held the package up, which was wrapped in the kind of linen she would expect to see on a Draugr. Further confirming her suspicion, a puff of dust lifted from the surface as the Breton grabbed it between her index finger and thumb. 

Silently, Galina watched as she unwrapped it slowly until finally the item inside was revealed. It was a…

“Brown dragon claw.” Obviously she was being fucked with at this point, it was either made of dog shit or woo, she was ready to place that bet on the spot.

“No, nononono, no, this is  _ wood _ , not brown. I don’t think brown is a material.” Imani grinned at Galina. 

“Hah! I called it. This is a joke, I knew it, there’s no  _ way _ my ancestors would make a claw out of  _ wood _ .”

“Well they obviously  _ did _ at some point, because this was in a barrow.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you made that.”

“Nope, one-hundred percent real.”

“How do I know this?”

“Because it smells bad.”   


“That is, in no way shape or form, an indicator.”

Imani whined as Galina kept unwaveringly declining. “Okay okay, fine, if we take you there and this thing doesn’t work, then I’ll let you kill Ondolemar.”

“What?!” Liya broke her short silence and stared at Imani in disbelief. This, however, drew a similar, yet more positive reaction from Galina.

“Well then...let me get my coat.”

As Galina walked off to gather her things, Liya turned to Imani. “Oh no no no, she is not going to  _ touch _ Ondolemar for one of your little jokes.”

“Oh  _ relax _ , I just said that to get her to come, we need some muscle.”

“Why? Why do we need muscle?”

“Because it’s fun to watch her hit things and pretend to be angry.”

“Imani, does this thing actually  _ work _ ?”

“I dunno, does it?”

“Imani!”

“Does anything  _ really _ work?”

Liya glared at her, finally getting the other Breton to come clean, “Yeah, don’t worry, it works, it’s all legit.”

“Okay...I believe you. Mostly. Let’s--”

Liya promptly shut up as Galina rounded the corner, fully geared-up. “Okay, so, where are we going?”

“Winterhold!”

There was a pregnant silence before both Liya and Galina spoke up in unison,

“What?!”


	2. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! I've had a lot of projects on my hands, and this one ended up on back-burner.

Galina trudged through the snow of the far north, her jacket wrapped tight around her, and the wraps that usually shielded her hands had been supplanted by leather, fur-lined gauntlets, each with a dragon embossed into the forearms. Her hood was pulled up over her lengthening hair, the fur that lined the outside and provided insulation buried beneath the flecks of snow from the relentless blizzard. The gales howled in the Nord’s ears, even through the thick leather of her hood.

Long ago having lost the pair of Bretons, along with her map, she continued through the snow by memory, catching brief glimpses of...something, in the snow, something that put her on the edge and brought an alertness to her frozen face. Regardless, she continued on, feeling an immense relief as the snow-covered pillars that marked the location of the barrow came into sight.

Breaking into a...semi-run, the knee-high snow impeding her movement, she slowly caught sight of more of the barrow, as well as two distinctly human forms standing just inside the entrance, sheltered from the snow. “Those sneaky little…” Galina growled to herself and paused a moment before picking her pace back up, eventually nearing close enough that the Bretons began shouting encouragement in her direction. Paying it no mind, she finally broke the oppressive depth of the snow and elbowing past the two.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t ever going to make it here!” Imani called after the irritated woman, who simply ignored her and continued forward. Liya, on the other hand, knew well enough to keep her mouth shut in the presence of such an obviously-annoyed Nord who was liable to call the whole thing off and leave them behind in the snow.

Pausing momentarily at the entrance, making certain that there were no locks, Galina pushed forward through the double, cast-iron doors, snagging a torch from the sconce near the frame as she did so.

Within the barrow, it was darker than most, the candles that were normally maintained by gravekeepers had long since burned out, leaving behind an oppressive darkness that shrouded whatever dangers lay within the ruins. And with the darkness, came silence, ominous enough even to bring a hush over the chatty Imani’s tongue. The smell was musty, carrying not the usual scent of rotting flesh that pervaded its brothers, but an odd, spring-like smell, of flowers and fresh breeze.

Chalking it up to a daydream, Galina broke through the fear she felt coiling through her brain and took the first few steps in, unnerved by the echoes her footfalls made through the halls. Although she expected it, she nearly jumped out of her skin as Imani spoke up from behind, “Well...onward, brave falcon!” The tone was, on the surface, playful, but carried an undertone of uneasiness.

The group proceeded down the stairs into the depths, passing by several open--and empty--coffins, the pair of Bretons bravely following behind Galina, who had one hand on her blade, and the other on the torch, illuminating what lay ahead of them to a decent degree, although it didn’t seem to be lighting as much as it should be. Nonetheless, they continued through the main chamber, careful not to make any noise. Unable to help herself, however, Imani nicked a coin from the floor, and Liya a dusty tome that looked to be older than Skyrim itself.

Another set of stairs presented itself, this one looking to go much deeper than the last, a straight shot to the bottom. The suffocating darkness and deafening silence prevailed, broken only by the breathing and footsteps of the three intrepid adventurers. Remaining silent in fear of waking up whatever lay ahead, Galina motioned to her companions and began descending the staircase, keeping her ears perked for anything that may be accompanying them.

Although it felt like she’d been walking for minutes, now, the staircase seemed to keep going, the walls on either side becoming further degraded, chipped, and eroded, small roots and patches of dirt slowly replacing the stone bricks. Eventually, however, they reached the bottom, a place that looked to be far more neglected than the entry chamber. By now, the coffins and bones had yielded to statues of dead--stone skeletons standing guard over the otherwise empty chambers and hallways. None of them had spoken in the longest time, the unease having settled over the group by now. 

Every step or two, the crunch of dirt and roots could be heard underfoot, only to find themselves replaced with stone tile mere moments later. The walls were now almost entirely dirt and natural stone, with only the occasional brick making an appearance in them. However, the statues remained, unperturbed by the passage of time.

By now, the depth was beginning to take its toll on the group of adventurers, the ears of all three having popped, and a slight heaviness to their limbs as the pressure weighed on them. Imani attempted to quip something, but faded away to a mumble only a moment later, unable to bring herself to say much in the face of such eerie silence. 

Eventually, after what seemed like hours of walking, the three emerged into what was likely the antechamber, a ceiling spanning hundreds of feet above their heads, so far that the torch could not reach whatever lay above them. The walls themselves returned to a stone pattern, the statues replaced with rotted banquet tables, extinguished braziers and carpets eaten through by rats. At the end of the chamber sat a regal throne, inlaid with gold and silvers that gleamed even through the grit that had accumulated over time, with a sigil that sat invisible behind the layers of dirt that coated the throne. 

The silence and darkness prevailed, yet deeper, as the trio explored deeper into the throne room. However, that feeling of loneliness had suddenly been replaced by...something. A presence. 

By now, the torch--although still burning as heavily as ever--was not casting near as much light as it should, eventually becoming totally useless, prompting Galina to toss it aside. “Wait wait, don’t we need that?” Liya spoke from somewhere behind the Nord.

“It’s useless, taking up a hand.” Galina answered back, taking a deep breath in near-unison with Imani. 

Suddenly, a noise.

A shrill giggle echoed through the antechamber, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet. “Shit...shit shit shit.” Galina swore under her breath and drew her blades, although the sound was oddly suppressed. The shuffling continued until in the distance, the Nord began to make out what was approaching them. Two white dots approached slowly, accompanied by a tortured, red grin, devoid entirely of teeth. 

“Welcome...home...queen.” The voice was high-pitched, soft, and yet at the same time, shrill and loud. Although Galina swung wildly at the space in front of her, the creature didn’t slow down, and although she found herself attempting to shout threats to it, she wasn’t able to croak out the words, instead paralyzed, stuck with her blades outstretched.

Suddenly, the face disappeared.

Black.

  
  
  
  
  


_ “NOO!” _


	3. Chapter 3

Galina slowly opened her eyes, groaning deeply. Her head throbbed like it was being crushed between two rocks, and the space behind her eyes burned like the rocks were on fire. Luckily, there was no light to make it worse. Or maybe that was a bad thing. It may also have been the fact that there were no irritating Bretons around to aggravate the condition. 

It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness around her, but when she could finally see, it was obvious she was in some sort of antechamber, a door behind her and one in front of her. Of course, the one that could lead to an escape was very clearly warded, a deep crimson shimmering just above the surface. The only way was forward.

Readying herself, the Nord reached for her blades--only to find they were missing, as were the rest of the weapons she kept on her person. Significantly more tense now, she looked around for something that might’ve been useful, only to find empty corners and solidly-set bricks. No dust, though. Rather odd for a place so old.

Sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth and steeling herself for whatever lay beyond the heavy doors in front of her, Galina placed her hands on either door and pushed, wincing each time the hinges creaked. Whatever was behind them, though, was certainly emitting a brighter light than she’d seen anywhere else in the ruin. 

Finally, the doors gave way to the chamber ahead, revealing something that Galina hadn’t been expecting in the slightest. A tomb, a wraith, maybe even a skeletal dragon, anything other than what actually stood before her at the moment.

A long table spanning most of the room’s length stood right in the center, on top of a light blue carpet. Although it was set with plates piled with raw meat and goblets filled to the brim with--what the room’s smell indicated to be--blood, it was all very clean and well-set. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating a good portion of the room, though torches filled in the spots it couldn’t reach. 

What she found most perplexing, however, was the wall to her right, segmented, with healthy plants spilling from the open portions. Although they stopped just at the edge of the alcoves, it still maintained a wild look. From just above, sunlight poured through, a breeze blew and leaves rustled, as if the wilds had infiltrated the barrow. 

Before she had a chance to investigate further, however, a shrill laugh snapped her out of her observations and brought her seamlessly into a defensive stance, spinning on her heel to face the source of the sound. Once again, she was surprised, however, she wasn’t certain if it was a  _ pleasant _ surprise. A short man--likely a Bosmer--tapped his feet in a woeful attempt at dancing, clapping his hands erratically. He seemed to be dressed in the costume of a jester. “Hello hello! Welcome to her majesty’s court! Please remove all collars, scarves, and boots, haha!” Although he seemed absolutely demented, there were no weapons on his person and he seemed harmless enough--certainly short enough for the Nord to step on.

Feeling semi-safe, she turned back to face the rest of the room when she was pelted with a leather shoe. “OFF! SHOES OFF!” The mer shrieked. Without much recourse and not desiring a fight, the Nord gave him an odd look and crouched down, undoing the buckles that held her boots in place and removing them, touching her bare feet to the cold stone below. 

Hoping that the jester wouldn’t assault her again, she returned her attention to the room in front of her, noting now something she’d been too distracted to see before. Someone sat on the far side of the room, sprawled across a throne atop a pair of steps. Although it appeared to be a woman, Galina couldn’t be certain. 

Taking several steps closer, she eventually got a good look at the woman on the throne. She wore a red overcoat with a symmetrical pattern of triangles, paired with pitch-black trousers and shin-high leather boots. Chestnut hair was tied back behind her ears, reaching down to her upper back. One of her arms was strapped with ornate steel plating, gauntlets tapering off into sharp points. In her far hand, she held a platinum goblet with hints of red stains around the rim. One of her legs was draped over the arm of her throne, and the other resting on the ground. Using the other arm as a backrest, it became increasingly unclear as to why she had a throne and not a bed or bench.

“So…” The woman spoke up, a distinct Breton accent to her voice, though her facial features and build would suggest she was a Nord. “You’ve come to take this throne, I assume?” The woman locked eyes with Galina, and for the first time, she noticed they were a bright red. Something she’d seen too many times before in vampires. 

Taking several steps forward, she shrugged. “Depends on how much trouble you give me. Where am I and where are the Bretons who were with me?” Galina’s voice still held the confident tone it always had. Now that she could put a face to her adversary, the floor had fallen out from the intimidation factor.

Nonetheless, the vampire seemed unperturbed, laughing gleefully and shaking her head, taking a sip from her goblet. “My, so cocky. I’ll tell you what. I have some disobedient cattle who need to be broken in but I don’t feel like doing it myself. Give them a good beating for me and I’ll let you see your friends.”

Reeling back at the suggestion, the Nord scowled and snarled. “Break your slaves? How dare you suggest something so repulsive?!” Already looking for a way out of this ordeal, Galina began scouting for something she could use as a weapon against this vampire, only to be stopped dead in her tracks by the woman’s next words.

“Pity. They look so tasty, I suppose I’ll see if I’m right.” The woman began standing up, and immediately, the Nord reached out to her.

“No! No. Okay, okay okay. I’ll…” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll break them in.” Defeated and not wishing to see the two Bretons dead, despite how much she hated them, Galina approached the end of the table, only feeling angrier as the vampire grinned happily. 

“Lovely! Gerrvir, be a dear and retrieve the first cattle, yes?” The Nord could hear that same, shrill laugh from behind her as the jester skipped off to find Galina’s adversary, a door somewhere in the background opening and shutting with the force of a thousand winds. “He will be a moment. Don’t worry about ruining these lovely tables, I have plenty.” 

Leaving her with little time to respond to her words, the sound of a door once again opening and closing brought the Nord’s attention behind her. Expecting a frail man or mer, she rubbed her eyes, feeling incredibly guilty over what she was doing.

However, that expectation was well and truly dashed as she was met with a towering Orc, packing more muscle than the average ocean. 

“...Fuuuuuuuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was the setup for the coming chapters. Stay tuned, big plot developments gon happen here!


End file.
